This week, my cousin shared with me her feelings of terror during her radiation treatment. She suffers from extreme claustrophobia, so much so that she cannot even ride on elevators. So when the radiation treatment room door closes automatically, she has panic attacks. The treatment facility had worked out a way to deal with this, but unfortunately, the tech in charge that day did not read the note on the chart. The devil was in the details. All that needed to be said by the tech as she would leave my cousin for the radiation treatment was, “Don’t worry. It will be okay.” Unfortunately, this instruction was forgotten, and so, fear consumed my cousin to the point of tears, until the tech could get it right. My cousin shared that she just needed to hear those simple words to allay her fear. “Don’t worry. It will be okay.”
Such simple, yet powerful words, “It will be okay.”
We don’t seek reassurance from HaShem that He has our backs when we’re doing fine. We just take goodness for granted, often mindlessly accepting the myriad of blessings He is bestowing as He makes our lives for the most part quite blessed. Most of us have food on our tables, roofs over our heads, loved ones, the list goes on. Health challenges often derail our thoughts that our Abba is in control, but even through those times we can see the many blessings if we remember it will be okay. When we have setbacks and worry, and remember the blessings and pray, we regain our sense of shalom. We remember that HaShem has got this. We often don’t know when, or how, and the path may not be the one we would choose, but we know He covers us. That assurance comes from our having faith in God. Knowing that truth motivates us to keep pushing through the hard times.
I was reminded from her experience at the hospital that when I start to worry, I can be soothed by thinking those same simple words, “It will be okay,” because HaShem has my back. I reminded myself that fear is a tool of the evil one. My faith in God through Yeshua is my bulletproof vest, only further strengthened knowing my faith community is in prayer as a fortified surrounding impenetrable fort. I was reminded as well to thank Him for the many blessings that otherwise can be so silently taken for granted. I recharged my attitude of gratitude.
As I started my jog later that day, the words of (who else?) Steve McConnell’s “Behold He Comes” played in my headphones as the first “random” song on Spotify:
“Wasn’t it enough that you enslaved us for so long?
Wasn’t it enough to watch us leave?
You had to keep pursuing – had to fill our hearts with fear
Following behind us to drive us to the sea.
And of course we all were trembling as we thought about our fate
Drown, or turn to face your mighty men
Then Moses stood and raised his hands and said – be still . . .
And see the Lord’s deliverance in the mighty arm of God.
. . .
And I must admit it’s hard sometimes to hold on to my faith
When I see the vile hatred for the ones who bear your Name.
. . .
But there’s a calm – small – voice and it says be still
I‘ve known the end from the beginning – and very soon you will.”
When my cousin shared her fearful experience, I thought how much moreso would she have been calmed if she not only had felt the words she sought from the radiation tech, but also, were able to feel them from her Abba. We were both raised mainstream Jewish. Until recently, I don’t think she gave our Jewish faith much extra thought. Since her diagnosis she has been seeking Him, including attending an amazing Erev Shabbat service on the beach last Friday which was powerfully beautiful, especially as we worshiped to the sights and sounds of the ocean waves against the shore while digging our toes in the sand. It was hard not to feel His Presence! We both did.
One of my cousin’s and my common acquaintances stopped me yesterday to say she had “randomly” run across my videotaped testimony from several years ago on line and that she had recently shared it with my cousin. Our mutual friend was amazed at how God had led her to this at just this time. She said she felt something bigger than all of us was afoot.
It always is.